


Devil With Devotion

by literallywhatamidoing



Category: Kylo Ren - Fandom, Rey - Fandom, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), ben solo - Fandom
Genre: AU, Badass Rey, Don't Judge Me, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Italian Mafia, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, POV Kylo Ren, Protective Kylo Ren, Rey Kenobi, what am i
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallywhatamidoing/pseuds/literallywhatamidoing
Summary: My initial thought was of the way she said like it was already on the tip of her tongue, like she’d been waiting to say it all night.





	1. A Solemn Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to anyone who could possibly be here right now !! Its 3:01 a.m. and I’m presenting unto you a reylo mafia au that no one asked for but I thought had a lot of potential. Whether or not it lives up to that potential. This is my first real work on here and yeah. But its all up to you so pleeeaaasseee tell me what you think. I’m only a beginner so I’m open to any advice. Please enjoy!

Feeling the fire at the end of the cigarette, like the light at the end of a hopeless tunnel you secretly love but can never find the end to. You know how it ends, but the dry feeling in your throat and mouth make you hope that the fire is actually your much needed water. Flooding your senses, smoke up to your eyes making the world much softer looking. Like the sunlight in a 70’s movie, none of the sharp images and contrast of today's world. My blood rushing at perfect pace with the rest of reality but my weight is so much lighter than anyone else’s.  
Looking at the light yellow tint of this 7/11 bathroom tiles isn’t how I thought I’d be spending my night though. Tapping excess ashes into the sink, I breathe in the smoke surrounding me. I place both hands onto the sides of the sink and look down at the tiles again. Filling my lungs with the remains of my easy way out. A silent, filling kind of self torture. I study the blood and dirt under my short nails. The bruises that never seem to leave my knuckles and the cut up the side of my forearm. I should clean it, I should clean my hands, I should clean up my life but here we are. I stand there a moment, enjoying the last traces of the nicotine in my system. It seems I was born into this drugged system. Never seeing the light of day without nicotine in my veins. But maybe it wasn’t nicotine, maybe it wasn’t any drug at all but I knew for a fact that my blood was of an entirely different species. A devil with devotion in his veins.  
2:48 a.m. I know I need to get out of here and get back home to the family but this is the most peaceful I’ve been in such a long time it seems. I haven’t had this low a heart rate since I was 17, I’m 25 now. Even when I was 17, there wasn’t a grand amount of times where I found myself without the anxiety of what could be around the corner. I had only been a kid, still youthful in appearance and mind. Even if my mind was older than my peers. It had been eight years when this all really began. Eight years of any amount of money I wanted, aching joints, and so much adrenaline pulsing through me I could hardly breathe.  
I finally look up at myself in the mirror, seeing a stranger's face. I don’t often look at myself. There's a long scar running up the bridge of my nose, a fresh cut on my bottom lip, and the ever present bags under my black eyes. My hairs been cut finally this afternoon to about under my ears. I never knew what to do with it when we go to the mattresses. Always got in the way. I run my hands through it and try to savor this last moment in the 7/11 restroom. I look down at the faucet on the sink and see my hands covered in blood. From my hair. I let go of the last smoke in my lungs and flick the death stick into the toilet. I wash my hair the best I can and tie it back with the band I always kept around my wrist. I check my watch for the time after I’ve rinsed my face and hands, 3 a.m. I place my fingers around the cold steel handle and take one last breath of serenity and take my first steps back into reality.  
The air is cold and musty, just like a gas station should smell like. The boy working here tonight looks at me wearily, he knows who I am but he could never put a name on it. No one ever can. I pace up and down the short aisles, towering over them. I skim the freezers and see exactly what I need right now.  
Some fucking water.  
My mouth and throat are so dry I’m sure my own blood has gone stale not to mention the red stains on my own white t-shirt.  
The ringing was so monotone and prolonged, I was sure it was only in my head. That it was just my body responding late to the attacks it’d endured before midnight. But it was only the bell on top the door to the shop. It rang cold and gray. A solemn reminder to the owners. What triggered the ring though of course was the door being pushed open and in coming a girl. A tall girl but much smaller than I. She stepped like every foot of tile she deserved. I lazily watched her from the corner of my eye while I finally did get the much needed water from the freezer. I could obviously tell she knew nothing of her surroundings but that didn't seem to bother her a bit. She knew what she came for and she knew she was going to get it. Stupidity in the mind of a child. Although of course she was in no immediate danger, there was danger in she had no inkling of what was around her. She knew there was a boy at the cash register and she knew where the chip aisle was. She thought that's all was necessary.  
Maybe it was for her. I envied her for a small moment until I realized who I was. What I had, what I was capable of. I knew she was nothing but a bug under my shoe on my daily jog.  
“You know,” I pause catching her attention and pointing towards the shelf, “The purple ones really are the best.”  
Of course this would catch anyone off guard, I mean, I'd definitely be suspicious of a man half a foot taller than me with bloodstains all over him at 3 a.m. recommending that I choose the pepper and lime flavor over the hot sauce ones.  
“Do you have a taste for things red?” She says referring to the color and side eyeing my hands, but still keeping focus on the ever important flavor of takis. Her lips weren't immense in size but they were noticeable enough for me to see how chapped they were. So dry and on the brink of bleeding if she smiled too wide. Enough for me to question why she'd go through the hassle of flavor when she knew it'd be the same as pouring salt over the soon to be slits on her lips.  
I decided not to respond to her. Instead I occupy my mind on the lazily stitched on patches on her backpack. They looked and sounded much more hopeful about the future than her tone of voice in speaking to me.  
The bag was the shade of desert sand with shit stain colored straps. It was soft, worn leather. Something that has seen the many realities of what life had given it, but had endured nonetheless.  
“So what’s with the ‘Save Our Planet’ one? What's worth the saving I mean,” I commented on one of her patches. It looked as if a six year old had made it and sounded like it too. What about this planet was worth saving? “I don’t see much worthy of my time, except maybe flaming hot cheetos. Those I might start reusing water bottles for.” Of course I was trying to be light, I even laughed a bit at the end to show I intend no serious offence.  
She side eyed me, and I saw she had very deep eyes. Green or brown I couldn’t quite decide but those eyes I knew could tell stories.  
“Well by your standards, even people aren’t worth saving. I could tell that by tonight. But by my standards, even the worst parts can be salvaged and in use of something. Not sure that applies to you though, Ben. ”  
My initial thought was of the way she said like it was already on the tip of her tongue, like she’d been waiting to say it all night. My secondary thought was simply; fuck.  
How’d she know? How could this little girl already know so much? That name was a murder mystery according to anyone but me, because I’m the one that killed him. Now here she is, this little girl with messy hair and soon to bleed lips breathing air back into a dead man's lungs once more.  
She knew something, something that was all but sworn to secrecy in the Family. Generations of the Family had sworn to God their allegiance to the unspoken law of Omerta. The sworn law of secrecy and silence among our brothers and wives. Anything even breathed to anyone outside the Family was killed, most likely on spot. We have people everywhere, watching everything, we've killed anyone who ever thought they knew something of us.  
“Who do you think you are?” I ask, closing in on her small stature.  
“I’m no one. But I know exactly who you are Ben Soldano.”


	2. Then is Not Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only sinners are out after midnight, anyways.

Things are not of how they were. Ten minutes ago is not now. That dead boy is now alive.

I don’t know if the bulbs above us had flickered, or it had just been my mind overflowing. 

Just as the smoke had, filling me up to my eyes. 

I try my damndest to keep my perfected poker face. But as I look over this girl, look at her (newly decided) hazel eyes, I fail. I feel my long face screw up.

 

But just as quickly as it had came, I regain my mask of superiority. 

 

She returns to the shelf, looking over the bags once more. Keeping her voice even and conversational.

 

“I saw you, tonight. I saw the girl, I saw what you did to her. What you let happen to her. To all of them. I bet even  _ you _ don’t know whose blood that is on your shirt.” She smirks somewhat at that, but I see it falter. Hardly noticeable, but I noticed.

 

“Oh yeah? What does it matter really, little girl? Only the sinners are out after midnight, anyways.”

I go on, “A simple task at hand it seems, but 3 a.m.? We must be one of the same.” I say in a lower voice. 

I saw the glimpse of recognition, she knows I’m daring her to push me. I’m being confrontational, I know but it's in my nature. It always has been. 

I have to admit I am truly interested as to where she’ll try and take this. How far she’ll take it…

she seems the kind not to back down from a dare. She’s got that gutsy quality about her.

 

“We share a common interest, you and I.” She turns to me, pivoting on her right foot. 

 

I consider the wear of her boots. The laces were double knotted and worn. Knotted quite tightly, with the lace reaching around her ankle and being tied up in the front. She must not want to lose them, although I don’t know how you could in the first place.

 

I wonder to myself how many miles they had been through, how many they had walked.

 

“Is that so, little girl? You know I can take whatever I want.” Dropping to her height, looking her eye to eye. There is a defiant look in them, something I see in the younger kids of the Family usually. I smile a bit to myself, amused by it. I wonder if I had use to look like that.

 

“You know I could ruin you,” 

Now it’s her turn to gain ground, lifting her chin evermore to me. I pull away, suddenly overly conscious of the way I’m breathing, and the way hers had felt mingled with mine.

She had smelt of old motel rooms and the end of summer. 

It reminds me of when school started back up in August, when I was much younger. Back when  a 11 year old boy, with messy hair and ears to big for his head, who was clumsy and got irritated too easily. It reminded me of being scolded by one of the soldiers for shaming the Family at school that day. I had glued a kids hand to the desk for taking my book. But the soldier had insisted that it was because when Father had come to the school I had already given into pressure of the teacher. I confessed when she promised whoever did it wouldn’t get into any trouble. I was crying by the time Father had arrived to be told. When I had returned home, I was once more drilled in my knowledge of the family and the laws. Law of Omerta. I wasn’t punished too brutally for a kid, but by the time I was 16 it was a different story.

 

“What’re you trying to do? Stare me into silence?” I had been daydreaming about days past with my eyes still fixed on the girl. Then is not now.

I step back and blink a couple times to regain being. 

“What are you here to propose?” Suddenly utterly exhausted by the night, I don’t have the energy nor time to get rid of this girl. I’d rather just give her whatever it is she wanted. The nicotine in my system has ebbed off considerably since the beginning of this so-called conversation.

“I could give you a job? Evidently you’re able to set foot wherever you want and gain valuable information. I could use that.” I only offer because I know the smell of motels only comes from the desperate for a roof over their head. The job pays well, and she can sleep soundly under any roof she wants.

“Very good, Ben.” She says, feigning pride for me. I grimace at the choice of name but don’t say anything. 

 

“But that's not all. I know how to fight, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes size successes over skill anyways. I want you to teach me the proper way. 

I want you to house me until I have enough money of my own from that pretty job offer you mentioned earlier.”  She gives me a crooked little smile at the reference. Nothing sincere in it, only a show of confidence in her statement of superiority.

“Quite a demanding little shit aren’t you? And why don’t I kill you now?” 

I’m beginning to turn to restlessness with these superficial demands. 

Although I guess for her, it's necessary. 

 

“And,” She starts once more, looking towards the white tiles below us now. Ignoring my threat. 

Seeming to forget that pride she had a second earlier. Her eyebrows knit together, and she presses her dry lips together.

“I need to find- I need-” she cuts herself off.

 

She breathes, slowing down her words. “If you want to keep your past a secret, you must help me find mine.” 

She’s pleading with me. Begging, you could even say. Everything from before is not now.

 

“I didn’t take you for the type.” I say, blinking and furrowing my own brows.

 

She’s on the defensive, sure that I’ve already taken the offensive. Turning her body to me fully, readying her guards. “What? You didn’t take me as what? A-” 

 

“The type to give in so easy.” I tell her simply. Smugly.

 

“ _ Excuse me? _ You have no idea who I am. You have no inkling as to what I’ve done,”

She accuses as she screws up her face, giving her freckles even more of an appearance. 

All at once the brooding, irritating, ‘no one’ is a force to be reckoned with. All at once enraged with me. 

 

“Have I insulted your pride, sweetheart? You think I care about what you’ve done? I don’t. I can assure you that I am not afraid of a little, confused girl.” 

 

I sneer and turn to leave, to forget all about whoever this drifter might be. She’s too easily provoked anyhow, she couldn’t do the job I had in mind at all. 

She snags the back of my shirt in her little fist and, caught by surprise, I fall back almost running into her. Instead she steadies me, holds the back of my shirt accordingly to bring me down to her height. 

She’s so close to me, I can feel her breath on my neck while her chins just above the back of my shoulder.

 

“Ben,” she begins in a hushed tone in my ear, still holding me in place. 

“If you call me  _ ‘little girl’ _ again, I will wreck your life as you know it.” She releases me and pushes me away from her, she’s much stronger than she seems.

 

After I attain my footing, I turn to her anew. Her face is of meaningful presence now, leaving behind the calm exterior from before.

Things are not how they were. 

 

We’re both gazing at eachother with new acceptance. Both sets of lips parted in a way of ah, uncertainty, and determination.

“Do as I say.” she declares, her eyes boring into him. 

 

I sigh finally in acceptance. She's too stubborn for her own good, I can tell. I wonder, not the first time, where she could’ve come from.

 

“Fine.” I answer with reluctance, running my hand through my hair. After all, it was their need for something and being able to give it to them is why we’re all here, right? It's just how business works. 

 

“If you don’t though, I will-”

 

“Have my ass on a platter I know, I get it kid.” I reply, cutting her short. 

 

“Don’t call me that, I’m 19. I haven’t been a kid in years.” She claims, her mouth set in a hard line. 

She turned and grabbed the takis, I had forgotten all about them. She marched up to the counter to pay the boy, having to snap him to attention from his phone. I had forgotten about him, too. 

I followed her close behind. Realizing this is now my new mission, I  needed to at least know her name.

“What's your name anyways, shortcake?” I say in reference to her height. She’s so much smaller than me. I couldn’t imagine seeing the world from that low of a point.

“I am not short, you’re just freakishly  _ tall. _ ” She claims as she reaches into her bag for her money.

“Well if you don’t tell me your name, I’ll just use my own,  _ shorty.” _ I remark in defiance. 

She gave me a fleeting dirty look before returning to counting out her coins. She bites her lip in concentration, muttering the numbers to herself.

“Look,” I say pulling out my wallet. “I’ll get it.”

She looked as if she were going to protest before realizing that now, I was under her command. Directly or not, I’d have to be paying for everything eventually. 

Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into?

 

We walked out of this forsaken building together, into the ghost town called a parking lot. The air was cold for September, I felt goosebumps rise on my arms and a chill go up my back.

I don’t think my passenger seat had known anyone else. I didn’t drive anyone around often, not that there was anyone to drive around. She questioningly looks to me pulling open a door, wondering if she really wanted to be in the same car as me. I had only assumed I’d be the transportation to wherever I was going to house her and such.

 

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m not a psycho, as much as it seems. Get in, it's late.” I reassure her while pushing open the passenger side from the driver's seat. 

She eventually climbs in, and buckles her seatbelt. Seeming unfamiliar with it. Shes all of a sudden quiet. But hey, if she doesn’t wanna talk then thank God. I never wanted this, I can’t half believe I’m being blackmailed by a 19 year old girl. I sigh and roll my eyes at the thought.

 

I really wish I hadn’t used my last cigarette in that place. 

 

We’re on the highway headed back to main town when I notice how dark the sky is. Dark as onyx. We’re the only car on the highway, the only light is coming from the radios buttons and the headlights on the road. Everything is silent. Not a bad silence, a comfortable one. Something very easily fell asleep to, with the white sound of tires on the road. She lays her back on the headrest, then proceeds to put her forehead against the window. Her hands are in her hoodie's pockets. She takes in a deep breath and lets out a long sigh. 

 

“Rey. My name is Rey.”


End file.
